Vashilu was not happy.
Granted, this wasn't the most uncommon of occurrences. As a matter of fact, sometimes it felt like most of his days were filled with things that put him in a foul mood. It was just that today, he was particularly unhappy.
The elite host stole through the forest as quickly and silently as they were able. Progress was becoming easier as they moved further into the thicker, more jungle-like territory; the ground was softer, the leaves moister and less noisy, and the twigs less likely to snap beneath their feet. The going was slower, however, since they were nowhere near as used to navigating through thicker foliage.
A short way ahead of the main group, he knew that Zoraja would be lurking, scouting ahead in his own cheerful and relaxed yet completely undetectable way. Abendi was leading the main body of the host, her expression completely failing to hide her impatience at their slowing pace. He could see Jidali shadowing her in his usual manner - silently and solemnly - and he growled to himself.
As a general rule, he liked to place most of the blame for his unhappiness on Jidali. Today was no different. It was his fault for enjoying this. His fault for being the boss' favourite. His fault for following her around and encouraging her madness. His fault for so obviously being the way he was just to annoy him. Part of him knew that he was being ridiculous, but worrying about his brother was much less stressful than worrying about the upcoming battle.
He hated the idea of attacking sacred grounds. They were rare. As far as he was concerned, sacred grounds were something that could not be permanently attributed to one tribe's loa. Other witchdoctors disagreed, instead believing that once ground was tainted with the power of a certain god, the process could not be reversed, and so the ground must sadly be desecrated. Because of his stance, Vashilu was widely considered to be rather strange. It was certainly possible that he was wrong, of course, but he'd prefer to be sure before they eliminated such a rare and powerful thing.
The company halted, and he watched as his youngest brother showed himself and began talking to Abendi. Though it was impossible to hear what was being said, Vashilu knew they had arrived at their destination. As one unit, the host moved into position. The only sound was the soft clunk of spears and axes and staves being drawn. No commands or even gestures had been given yet; the host had worked together in situations such as this all too many times. Mistakes weren't something they made any more.
Quickly now, they crept forward, keeping low. From his position towards the back of the host, Vashilu was unable to see Abendi's unspoken orders, so he kept his head down and followed the pair of green feet in front of him. When they made a sharp turn to the left, he glanced upwards, taking in the terrain.
They were moving around the edge of a massive clearing. It was roughly circular in shape, and built almost in the very heart of it was a large temple. The stone structure reached high enough into the sky to make Vashilu squint into the late morning sun. At the very top, he thought he could see a few figures - probably shadow hunters or witchdoctors like himself - going about their business. A small Gurubashi camp had been erected to the south of the temple, presumably to escape notice. Dark smoke billowed up from behind its high wooden walls, indicating that a bonfire had recently been doused. They knew they were under attack.
The clearing now fully encircled, the host stopped and crouched, awaiting a signal. Vashilu waited nervously. How long had they been anticipated? They'd been counting on the element of surprise to help them win today. If the Gurubashi had fled...
Thunk.
With a stifled cry, the fourth troll to Vashilu's right went down. Acting purely on instinct, he ran to her, staying low but already beginning to send pulsating energy down through his hands to his staff. He knelt beside her, hearing a piercing wail cut through the air even as he began to shake the tip of the staff over his patient's arrow wound. He knew that voice. That was Abendi, signalling that they were under attack.
He never took his eyes off his patient for an instant. He could hear arrows whistling overhead; that was the hunters' host, he suspected, firing arrows at enemies he could not yet see. Satisfied that his patient's pain would be temporarily eased, he set about tearing the arrow from her calf flesh. It had not been a good shot. He suspected that a young Gurubashi warrior had alerted them of their presence by sheer accident. With his practiced hands, he removed it quickly, and after a few more moments, his patient was healed. With a grim nod, she picked up her spear and joined the quickly tightening group that was the elite host. He followed.
To the east and west, the first and second warriors' hosts charged through the thick jungle. Vashilu knew that the riders would be coming later, when the Gurubashi front lines had been broken, and would probably come from so far to the side that he wouldn't even notice their arrival. The elite host itself - or at least, the portion that had managed to keep relatively calm about the situation - was gathered around the foot of the temple. Their position was secure for the time being, but they had to work fast.
At the temple's foot, Abendi shouted a command to charge. As one, the small group of elite fighters surged up the towering staircase that led to the upper sanctum and sacrificial altar. At the head of the group, Vashilu could see Jidali waving his twin curved blades around, rapidly building momentum. Zoraja ran just beside the witchdoctor; his throwing axes would be of little use at close range. He grinned, but Vashilu just rewarded him with a bland look. The loathing for the desecration he was about to take part in was building steadily in his stomach.
He stole a quick glance backwards, hoping to see some sort of indication of the flow of the battle below, but the thick jungle obscured his view.
And then they were atop the temple, charging into the sanctum. Instantly the sounds of death filled the room. Bodies fell left and right and the ground became slick with blood. A hand axe flew past Vashilu's ear and he turned. A Gurubashi warrior was approaching from behind, pointing the tip of his pike at Zoraja. He lunged forward, his staff whistling through the air before connecting with the enemy's head with a crack.
Without pausing to watch his victim fall, Vashilu spun around, engaging with another enemy. Sending hot pulses of energy through his staff, he jabbed the unadorned end into the other witchdoctor's gut. He could feel the vibrations as his victim's innards turned to mush.
The sanctum quietened almost as suddenly as it had erupted into chaos, and Vashilu felt physically ill as he kicked the writhing body off his weapon.
It was time.
"Vashilu," Abendi called, needlessly. She was leaning against the altar, blood-drenched and panting.
All eyes turned to him as he nodded. Reluctantly, he approached, his head bowed as he attempted to get his own racing breath under control. The commander backed off the altar as he knelt, bringing his staff forward and placing its tip gently upon its centre.
Surreal silence enveloped him. He could feel the energy throbbing through his arms and hands, though the sensation was dulled, as if on the very edge of his mind. A bright light began to emit from the point of contact between the skull on the tip of his staff and the altar beneath it, but he shut his eyes as a trembling pain shot through him. For a moment there was agony, and then, with a shudder, he let go.
He opened his eyes and stood on unsteady feet. Abendi waited for his nod before shouting the next orders. Vashilu didn't hear a word of them. He was drained and overcome with grief. So many lives given to this altar, to this temple... so many souls, diminished into nothing...
He collapsed.